


(Love Is) A Losing Game

by Sidalee



Category: Thor (Movies), Thor - All Media Types
Genre: Blood and Torture, M/M, Pre-Thor (2011), Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-06
Updated: 2014-12-06
Packaged: 2018-02-28 10:05:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,574
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2728331
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sidalee/pseuds/Sidalee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Thor wishes that he’d never suggested to go on a hunt on Álfheimr, that they'd never stumbled across the royal siblings, that Loki's eyes were another colour. Loki, who is both the prize Thor is playing for and a measure for how badly he's losing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	(Love Is) A Losing Game

The Ljósálfar are twisted creatures, Thor thinks, as he tries to sit still. Beautiful and clever but gut wrenchingly twisted. Maybe living on trees for centuries does make you a sadistic creature after all. He should listen to Loki more often. 

The thing is, Thor’s never been good at these type of things. All kinds of games bore him, which doesn’t include him hitting his opponent at least once. He never liked card games, but this, this is pushing right past dislike and straight into outright hatred. 

The game he's playing seems to be some arcane cross between three different games, he’d seen Loki play with Mother on rainy days, the thin wooden cards bearing elaborately carved pictures and symbols in a language he cannot read. Five of them are laid out in front of him already, and he dreads having to draw the sixth one. 

So far, he's losing.  

Losing, big time, and Thor wishes that he’d never suggested to go on a hunt on Álfheimr, that they'd never stumbled across the royal siblings, that Loki's eyes were another colour, that Loki wasn’t so damn beautiful so the princess wouldn’t want to bed him, so Thor wouldn’t have to drink that much of mead in his silent rage. Loki, who is both the prize Thor is playing for and a measure for how badly he's losing, and Norns, Thor really needs to win this game, but he doesn't know how. The rules haven't been explained to him, and all he's been able to gather so far is that leaves are good, feathers are bad.  

Very, very bad. 

He wants to go home. 

The princess, – the _master card player,_ and Thor hates her with the power of a thousand storms – pulls a card from the stack between them and lays it down on her side of the table. She smiles. 

"The Dancer of Leaves." 

Behind her, her brother gets the shallow cut on his cheek dabbed with ointment. Again. He’s tied to his chair but doesn't look uncomfortable. And why would he, Thor thinks bitterly, that one cut is all he’s gotten so far. 

"Your turn." The princess nods at Thor, the expression on her face slightly bored. 

Thor presses his lips together as he reaches out and draws a card from the middle of the stack. The smooth wood feels slippery between his sweaty fingers, and he can't hold back the pained sound that escapes him as he turns the card over and spots the five feathers in the upper left corner. No one has that much bad luck. 

"The Maiden of Feathers," the princess announces, and Thor squeezes his eyes shut so they won't burn as much as he tenses, waits for the card's sentence to be carried out. 

"I'm sorry," he says quietly, but Loki probably doesn't hear him. 

He's moaning this time, loudly, so it must be bad. Thor wants to turn around and see what they are doing to him, wants to tell Loki to hold on, hang in there, they can win this. But Loki ordered him not to look after the first two cards, both bearing four feathers each, and if this is the only thing Loki can control right now then Thor will let him. He won't look. But there had already been so much blood and Thor seriously doubts that Loki can take much more, and he wants to _see,_ to reassure himself that that Loki isn't already dying, right this minute, while Thor has his back turned to the ragged breaths. 

"Observe," the princess says, slightly impatient. "It is my turn." 

Thor doesn't want to look at her but opens his eyes nevertheless. There's no telling what the other Ljósálfar might do to him – or, Norns help him, Loki – if he doesn't comply. 

The princess pulls her card from the bottom of the stack. Her expression is unmoved as she lays it down. 

"The Brothers of Feathers." 

Her brother’s eyes widen and he tenses on his chair, crying out as the whip – that one is new, Thor doesn't think they've had that yet – comes down on him, again, and again, the torn edges of his robe soaking up his blood, green fabric turning dark red. Thor wants to feel sorry for the prince, but he's seen his pout when Thor's one and only leaf-card got Loki a brief respite. 

"Your turn." 

The princess is watching him. She had listened to Thor's drunken rant about the foolishness of a her people for living among the trees, preferring nature over crowded cities, had acknowledged his threats to have her people reduced to ashes by lightning that he would call himself, and noted his refusal to draw anther card. Then she had raised her hand and gestured, not even blinking when Loki had _screamed,_ meeting Thor's wide-eyed stare with a calm gaze of her own as she told him it was his turn. He went along… he never wants to hear that sound again. 

He draws feathers again, but it's only one this time. Loki still makes a sound, a choked noise that speaks of pain and blood and, and _pain,_ and Thor grabs the armrest of his chair so hard his knuckles ache. 

He _has_ to get Loki out of here. 

When Loki falls silent behind him, the princess speaks. 

"Your collateral will be returned to you if you forfeit," she says calmly, and Thor wants to hit her. He will regain Loki, yes, but he'll lose his "tokens", and even if he were willing to sacrifice Sif, Fandral, Hogun and Volstagg – which he _isn't_ – Loki would never forgive him. 

"Your turn," he answers brusquely, and she inclines her head, reaching again for the bottom of the stack. 

"The Dancer of Feathers," and the princess hasn't even let go of her card before her "collateral" starts screaming. A short metal claw this time, more blood, and Thor looks away. 

He can't hear Loki's breathing anymore. He tells himself it's because the prince’s screams are so loud. 

"Your turn." 

"I _know,_ " he snaps, thoroughly disgusted with her and her people and this game. He snatches the card from the very top of the stack, not even looking as he throws it down. "There! Are you satisfied? Are we done yet? Can I just take my brother and my friends and _leave_ your sadistic, blood-thirsty, wretched-" 

"The Leaf," she interrupts him, eyes fixed on the piece of wood he's drawn. 

"Aye, so?" He looks down. The carving on the card looks like a leaf from Mother’s favourite tree, and Thor's fingers twitch against the urge to snap it in half. At least a leaf should equal another pause from torture, perhaps even some ointment. "What does it mean?" 

"It means you win." 

"I… what?" Thor blinks at her, at the card, at her again. Behind him, Loki laughs, or possibly sighs, it's hard to tell the difference. 

"You win," the princess repeats, standing up and inclining her head at him before she strides out of the room with no glance to spare for her "collateral". 

"What, that's it? Just like that?" Thor yells after her. His rising anger is derailed by Loki's scratchy voice. 

"Don't make her change her mind." 

"Right." Thor hangs his head and takes a breath, tipping the leaf with his finger. 

The guards are halfway through untying Loki from his chair by the time Thor works up the nerve to turn around. And he half-wishes he hadn't, because- 

"Norns, Loki, you look-" 

-more dead than alive, Thor doesn't say, and presses his lips together. Loki's face is pale and sweaty, blood running into his left eye from a gash that runs over half his forehead, including his eyebrow. There's a bruise high on his cheek, another gash right next to his nose, far too close to his other eye; his lower lip is split and his right ear is bleeding, and that's just his face. The rest of him looks equally bad, torn clothes and too much blood and what seems like a few broken fingers. 

And yet, despite it all, he’s grinning like a mad man. Thor blames it on the heavy blood loss. 

"Looks like I'm yours, Thor." Loki breathes, his lips still twitching upwards. 

"What?" Thor blinks, shaking his head as he shoves the guards away and carefully pulls Loki up. 

"You won me, didn't you?" Loki sways on his feet, exhausted and obviously in pain and _still grinning,_ and Thor slings his arm around Loki's waist and pulls Loki's arm across his shoulders before his brother falls down and breaks his neck or something. 

"In case you didn't pay attention," he rumbles as they make their way toward the door, "you were my collateral. That means I owned you all along." 

He stumbles when Loki tightens the arm around his shoulders, pulls him close. The sensation of Loki's lips pressing against the shell of his ear is too brief to really mean anything, and yet Thor's heart is pounding like he's just won a run for his life instead of a stupid card game. 

"Aye," Loki says, "I guess you did.” 

And it’s the easiest for Thor to turn his head and taste the copper on his brother’s split lip. Loki sighs, his battered body sags more against his brother’s bigger bulk while his mouth opens under Thor’s. 

Maybe the Ljósálfar aren’t the only twisted creatures in the nine realms.


End file.
